


A Single Step

by sifshadowheart



Series: Off the Path [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outtakes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."Here are some of the steps from the Off the Path series/universe that didn't make it into the main fics.  Outtakes, snippets, and alternate scenes/endings from all of the stories in the Off the Path series.





	1. Harry's Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> So here we are with another addition to the Off the Path series. This fic is a catch-all for scenes, outtakes, pieces of chapters or dialogue that don’t quite fit into the main narrative of the story. Or, if the muse strikes, alternative scenes that different people have asked about would be placed here, such as a scene request that I’m half-tempted to write as an alternate first-meeting between Newt and Harry, etc.  
As such, the word count on anything added to this catch-all can be very sporadic.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> This first outtake came as a result of realizing that I've done a bit too good of a job showing Harry adjusting to his changed circumstances. Here's a bit of him *not* dealing with things quite so well.

** A Single Step **

**Outtakes and Snippets from the _Off the Path Series_**

By _Sif Shadowheart_

**Outtake – Harry’s Breakdown**

**Set Between Chapters 11-12 of _Deliberate_**

It was a normal, average August day when the edges started to fray.

Harry had worked _so hard_ at keeping it together, taking first one step and then the next and then the next after that.

To keep it together, to keep going keep moving keep doing.

No thinking on things that weren’t involved in the plan he’d been carefully building with Isla one choice, one move, one piece at a time.

Not about the crimes he committed in the name of saving lives.

Not about going from the 90s to the 10s in less than a minute beyond the bare necessities of how to regroup and keep functioning.

Not about going from single omega without a soulmark or any single soul relying on him to twice-marked, single father who went and adopted himself a little brother before he could talk himself out of it.

Not about any of it.

_Thinking_ with Harry took him far too close to _brooding_ and when he started that it was nothing good but a spiral of dark thoughts and rage and apathy that _did_ nothing, _accomplished_ nothing, but took its toll on his mind and body and magic and soul nonetheless.

So he just…_didn’t_.

If he could help it anyway.

So, when the edges of his mental control over his thoughts started to fray and his Occlumency started to slip and what he’d kept buried for the better part of two months – or maybe more for some of it, Merlin knew he had more than his fair share of baggage – he had a quiet word with Rosie before Credence and Teddy woke up for the day, told her how to get in touch with him (via Serenity, really, once a phoenix knows a person hiding from them was damn impossible unless you were under wards specifically designed for that purpose) before unwrapping Eris from around his neck, and stepped into Horizont Alley and disapparated with a quiet _pop_ in the early morning light.

…

He landed on a cliff above the Mediterranean not far from where he’d met Eris for the first time while taking a rest with Grythorn and immediately hit his knees, curled in on himself with his forehead in the dirt, and _screamed_.

…

Harry didn’t know how long it lasted this time.

In the past, whenever he had to let go before what he hid from, even in his own mind could break him utterly, he’d always ensured that he was too well hidden to worry about being disturbed so he didn’t even have _that_ to estimate how long one of his…episodes lasted or whether this one was better or worse or just more of the same.

Even he could only take so much before he broke.

With Hogwarts looming like a specter in his near future along with everything that came with it (Dumbledore, was largely on his mind) and a massive, global-consuming war gathering on the horizon just behind like the most menacing thunderheads in the _entire fucking history of the world_, it had never been a question of _if_ but when.

Shoving everything down until he exploded – rather than exploding something or someone _else_ – emotionally wasn’t a healthy way to deal with the metric ton of _shit_ that had been piled on him from almost the moment he was born.

He knew that.

He wasn’t fucking stupid, he’d seen the documentaries on PTSD, he knew what the fuck was wrong with him other than _a lot_.

He also wasn’t a product of his current time which preferred to gloss over “uncouth” or “unseemly” facts of life.

At heart he was still the same borderline street-urchin Gen-X’er who’d been raised as much by books and telly as his shitty-ass guardians, none of which equipped him for either the life he’d lived thus far _or_ being tossed arse over tea kettle into he past…and that was before the soulmates _thing_ came into play.

That…that was a fact of his new life he was _utterly_ ill-equipped to deal with on a personal level no matter _what_ he’d told Credence or how good of a job he might’ve – still wasn’t sure, to be honest, kinda like _every-fucking-thing_ to do with being a combination of parental figure, mentor, and confidant – done with soothing his little brother’s worries over something so strictly magical in nature.

Muggles did _not_ have soulmates.

Period.

The end.

Soulmates were a fact and function of _magic_, they only _ever_ occurred among those with a magical core or ability of some kind, a fact that made him want to _scream_ at the idiots who snubbed squibs while overlooking the fact that of the ten to fifteen percent of the magical population who didn’t end up soulmarked over the course of their lives, squibs were no more likely to be among that percentage than anyone _else_ in the magical world no matter how powerful.

When Harry came into the magical world and learned of soulmates, that he didn’t have one had just been something that set him apart along with his fame and his scar.

It just _was_.

Harry Potter didn’t have a soulmate.

He never gained one, not in all the years up to touching a Nimue’s Tear, not even in his late teens which was, for the most part, the latest most people ever gained theirs though there were exceptions to every rule with the latest-appearing soulmark on record (Hermione had looked, because of course she did) in the last five hundred years or so since recording soulmarks became something _done_ if most often occurring posthumously appearing on the arm of a married witch from Greece who was fifty-two years old at the time.

It had become a fundamental part of his view of himself: Harry Potter, Gryffindor, Seeker, Markless, and so on.

Letting go of that when he’d already lost so much _because_ of it…he still didn’t know how to do that.

People thankfully didn’t expect him to go soulmate hunting – yet – due to Teddy and Credence.

He had heirs.

Mating, bonding, marrying, and all the permutations betwixt and between weren’t expected to be the first thing on his mind.

Gloves and a firmly polite-if-distant persona protected him at the moment.

No one with even a _smidge_ of manners in the current era would be so bold as to intentionally test his soulmarkings by touching his face which with how tucked up and covered everyone dressed was the only option open to someone who wanted to see if he was their soulmate.

Isla had quietly put it about that he’d come into his soulmark “late” which was code for anything in his teens really depending on how traditional the person applying the word was, and not revealed that he had more than one.

Thank Merlin.

With him moving into Wizarding Great Britain with a baby and a brother tagging along and taking up a lordship there was already _more_ than enough rumors floating around to entertain wizarding society without making him an out-and-out oddity with it.

Her maneuvering to make him part Native American – and he _still_ hadn’t gotten to the true bottom of that bit of finagling to figure out her actual motivations regarding making _that_ particular choice of all that had to surely be available to her – had already done its part to make him unique along with Credence with their skin tone and hair.

They didn’t need to add him being a freak of a triadic soul to the mix.

He’d take a hard pass on that being tossed into the meat-grinder of the rumor mill for as long as possible.

Teddy and Credence needed him to be strong not strung out because his core self has under gone a shift and he wasn’t dealing with it – like _at all_ – a fact that he was adjusting to better than anything else for all that it was just as big of a change to his life as everything else that had been tossed at him.

Before he’d had a whole tribe of people ready and willing to step in and help out and save him from himself when he was floundering in trying to take care of Teddy while Andromeda grieved.

Whether it was Hermione giving him parenting books – both wizarding and muggle – or Molly giving him practical, hands-on advice, or even George stepping out of his grief for Fred long enough to coo and bounce the baby while Harry changed after being spit-up on, he’d _never_ been truly alone as he took care of his godson.

Now, despite how invested Isla and her people at the DoM were and the _utter blessing_ that was Rosie as a nanny-elf, it was all on him.

Their futures, their health, their happiness, it all rode on Harry and the decisions he made.

Strangely enough, having the weight of _that_ on his shoulders did more to ground him in his new life than any amount of grieving the old one.

Well, that, and every now and again apparating to a cliff over looking the sea and screaming and crying it all out until he was once more calm and in control and ready to take yet another step forward.


	2. Riding Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outtake between Ch. 1 & Ch. 2 of Racing Towards Devastation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be at the end of Ch. 1 of Racing Towards Devastation but somehow didn't make it in? Not sure where/how the cut happened but rather than patch it back in I've added it here.

_29 December 1913; Potter Manor, Wiltshire, Wizarding Great Britain_

“Excellent, Aurelius!” Charlus, future Lord of the Noble House of Potter and husband to the most beautiful omega that had ever graced an alpha with their presence (not that he was biased or any such thing), called out from where he was leaning against the paddock railing with his father Henry and cousin Atticus at his sides.

There was much that the Potter men – Atty included as he was a cousin if not bearing the name – had had to think about over the last few months since Madam Hitchens – or Lady Isla depending on the situation and how formal one had to be – had informed them no matter how gently and discreetly of the existence of not only a family member they never knew of, but that Henry’s grandfather had not only had a liaison after being widowed, but had had the bad manners to die before acknowledging his daughter and bringing her into the fold.

A Potter daughter, as they were not one of the families overly blessed with female and/or omegan offspring, was a blessing that even with the…_unfortunate_ nature of her birth would have been welcomed among them.

Charlus’s grandfather Johnathon had always regretted – from the stories he told – that his parents had never given him a sibling, ensuring that he’d had at least two children himself so as not to force such a lonely upbringing as he’d experienced upon his own offspring: his son and heir (Charlus’s father) Henry and his lovely daughter (Atticus’s mother) Juliana.

Jonathon would have enjoyed having a sister – or as the case may be – a half-sister to spoil and cosset and protect.

Especially as it seemed she’d had two children herself…with different fathers no less, one of whom had an adoptive son of his own.

It was a situation ripe for rumor-mongering and scandal-making, with the only redeeming factors to it being that Harry’s father was such that it doubled or perhaps even trebled his claim to the formerly-extinct Peverell Lordship which came with modest wealth and massive landholdings according to rumor.

For all their upraised noses, snooty asides, and hissed invectives regarding just _who_ the former Lord of House Potter had had a scandalous affair with, trebled by the distinct skin tone Harry possessed, when it came to an omega of such high beauty, ancient blood, and coupled with wealth _and_ land…well.

Society may be sticklers more often than not but even they wouldn’t cut off their collective noses to spite their faces.

Or as the case may be: snub someone of the political, magical, and monetary power that Harry Peverell represented when he might yet deign to make a match from among their beloved darlings.

Being a male omega, Harry had his pick of all the eligible parties of the _ton_, from strongest alpha to the most simpering debutante…as his cousin was surely going to find out for himself at the New Year Ball in a few days.

Charlus was more than glad to have all of _that_ matchmaking nonsense over with, even if he’d never been the most sought-after bachelor among his set – a designation enjoyed by the oldest sons of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses like cousin Atty _or_, now, cousin Harry along with the likes of Rutherford Lestrange (and his cousin the Heir Corvus when he came of age) and Garrick Ollivander.

In the meantime however, the Potter men enjoyed having cousins of a similar age in Harry for Charlus and Atty, and in Teddy for Fleamont and little Aurelia, as well as having one in-between in Aurelius to teach such important things as how to ride, throw a punch (or a hex), and the proper way to have his valet/personal elf tie his cravat.

The object of this day was horseback riding, which as the skill of their newfound cousins progressed would advance to winged-horse riding and how to drive a carriage, which while Harry needed refinement regarding he at least had clearly sat a horse or similar creature before.

Little Aurelius was not nearly so sublime, though he’d picked it up quickly with reassurances from all of them and seeing that his brother – while clearly not a practiced or comfortable horseman (yet) managed to keep his seat.

Though with cushioning charms placed on the training paddock, there wasn’t much chance for injury barring an ill-timed kick or bite from either young wizard’s mount.

“Back, Harry.” Henry called out, reminding his cousin to keep proper posture. “Heels, Aurelius.”

The Potter men chatted amongst themselves while keeping an eye and calling out a correction every now and again as the two novices circled the paddock over and over again.

Not the least amongst the subject the dewy-eyed expression Charlus’s new bride got whenever little Teddy – who was playing with his own cousins in the Manor with Henry’s wife, sister, and new daughter-in-law keeping an eye on them while they enjoyed tea – came over to visit and deigned to allow anyone but Aurelius and Harry to hold him.

…


	3. Harry's Speech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cobbled together from some of what are considered the greatest speeches ever made, I use text and various turns of phrase from the following:
> 
> “Abolition Speech” by William Wilberforce; May 12, 1789
> 
> Demosthenes' Third Philippic speech, delivered on the Pnyx Hill, Athens, ancient Greece - late spring or early summer of 341 BC.
> 
> “Duties of American Citizenship” by Theodore Roosevelt; Buffalo, New York, January 26, 1883
> 
> There also is a reference to the USA’s Declaration of Independence circa 1776 at the very end because I’m a US Citizen and it still is a very cool turn of phrase.

** A Single Step **

**Outtake: A Wizard’s Call for Change**

_Harry’s Speech to the International Confederation of Wizards, 8 January 1914:_

\+ original content in below the ---

…

When I consider the magnitude of the subject which I am to bring before this body-a subject, in which the interests, not of this country, nor of Europe alone, but of the whole world, and of posterity, are involved: and when I think, at the same time, on the weakness of the advocate who has undertaken this great cause-when these reflections press upon my mind, it is impossible for me not to feel both terrified and concerned at my own inadequacy to such a task. But when I reflect, however, on the encouragement which I have had, through the whole course of a long and laborious examination of this question, and how much candour I have experienced, and how conviction has increased within my own mind, in proportion as I have advanced in my labours;-when I reflect, especially, that however averse any gentleman may now be, yet we shall all be of one opinion in the end;-when I turn myself to these thoughts, I take courage-I determine to forget all my other fears, and I march forward with a firmer step in the full assurance that my cause will bear me out, and that I shall be able to justify upon the clearest principles, every resolution in my hand, the avowed end of which is, the total rejection of magical lives being risked and lost in muggle wars, and the ruination of magical life as we know it through the pollution and contamination of muggle industry. I wish exceedingly, in the outset, to guard both myself and this body from entering into the subject with any sort of passion. It is not their passions I shall appeal to-I ask only for their cool and impartial reason; and I wish not to take them by surprise, but to deliberate, point by point, upon every part of this question. I mean not to accuse anyone, but to take the shame upon myself, in common, indeed, with the whole of governance of the magical world, for having suffered this horrid reality and trade to be carried on under their authority. We are all guilty-we ought all to plead guilty, and not to exculpate ourselves by throwing the blame on others; and I therefore deprecate every kind of reflection against the various descriptions of people who are more immediately involved in this wretched business of conquest, war, and the destruction of our very earth and magic.

Many speeches are made, members of this body, at almost every meeting of magical governance the world over with reference to the aggressions which muggles have long been committing, not only against each other but also encroaching upon lands long held by magical people or given over to be the territory of magical creatures.

Of course, in one sense, the first essential for a magical person’s being a good citizen is their possession of the home virtues of which we think when we call a person by the emphatic adjective of worthy. No person can be a good citizen who is not a good spouse and a good parent, who is not honest in their dealings with other magical folk, faithful to their friends and fearless in the presence of their foes, who has not got a sound heart, a sound mind, and a sound body; exactly as no amount of attention to civil duties will save a nation if the domestic life is undermined, or there is lack of the rude military virtues which alone can assure a people’s position in the world. In a free republic the ideal citizen must be one willing and able to take arms for the defense of the home, exactly as the ideal citizen must be the parent of many healthy children. A race must be strong and vigorous; it must be a race of good fighters and good breeders, else its wisdom will come to naught and its virtue be ineffective; and no sweetness and delicacy, no love for and appreciation of beauty in art or literature, no capacity for building up material prosperity can possibly atone for the lack of the great worthy virtues.

But let me unequivocally state, that in being virtuous they must not become ineffective, and that they must not excuse themselves for shirking their duties by any false plea that they cannot do their duties and retain their self-respect. This is nonsense, they can; and when they urge such a plea it is a mark of mere laziness and self-indulgence. And again, one should beware how they become a critic of the actions of others, rather than a doer of deeds themselves; and in so far as one does act as a critic (and of course the critic has a great and necessary function) they must beware of indiscriminate censure even more than of indiscriminate praise. The screaming vulgarity of the foolish spread-eagle orator who is continually yelling defiance at the muggles, praising everything magical, good and bad, and resenting the introduction of any reform because it has previously been tried successfully abroad, is offensive and contemptible to the last degree; but after all it is scarcely as harmful as the peevish, fretful, sneering, and continual faultfinding of the refined, well-educated person, who is always attacking good and bad alike, who genuinely distrusts magical governance and separatism, and in the true spirit of servile consolationism considers us inferior to the people without magic in their veins. It may be taken for granted that the magical who is always sneering at our public life and our public servants is a thoroughly bad citizen, and that what little influence they wield in the community is wielded for evil. The public speaker or the editorial writer who teaches magical people of education that their proper attitude toward magical politics should be one of dislike or indifference is doing all they can to perpetuate and aggravate the very evils of which they are ostensibly complaining.

Exactly as it is generally the case that when a person bewails the decadence of our civilization they are themselves physically, mentally, and morally a first-class type of the decadent, so it is usually the case that when a person is perpetually sneering at our magical governors and politicians, whether worthy or unworthy, they themselves is a poor citizen and a friend of the very forces of evil against which they profess to contend. Too often these people seem to care less for attacking bad men, than for ruining the characters of good men with whom they disagree on some public question; and while their influence against the bad is almost nil, they are sometimes able to weaken the hands of the good by withdrawing from them support to which they are entitled, and they thus count in the sum total of forces that work for evil. They answer to the political prohibitionist, who, in a close contest between a temperance wizard and a muggle-interest seller diverts enough votes from the former to elect the muggle-interest seller. Occasionally it is necessary to beat a pretty good magical, who is not quite good enough, even at the cost of electing a bad one- but it should be thoroughly recognized that this can be necessary only occasionally and indeed, I may say, only in very exceptional cases, and that as a rule where it is done the effect is thoroughly unwholesome in every way, and those taking part in it deserve the severest censure from all honest magical people.

Moreover, the very need of denouncing evil makes it all the more wicked to weaken the effect of such denunciations by denouncing also the good. It is the duty of all citizens, irrespective of party, to denounce, and, so far as may be, to punish crimes against the public on the part of politicians or officials. But exactly as the public citizen who commits a crime against the public is one of the worst of criminals, so, close on their heels in the race for iniquitous distinction, comes the citizen who falsely charges the public servant with outrageous wrongdoing; whether it is done with foul-mouthed and foolish directness in the vulgar and violent party organ, or with sarcasm, innuendo, and the half-truths that are worse than lies, in some professed organ of independence. Not only should criticism be honest, but it should be intelligent, in order to be effective. 

Criticism should be fearless, but I again reiterate that it should be honest and should be discriminating. When it is sweeping and unintelligent, and directed against good and bad alike, or against the good and bad qualities of any one person alike, it is very harmful. It tends steadily to deteriorate the character of our public servants; and it tends to produce a very unwholesome spirit among young persons of education, and especially among the young persons in our schools.

In facing the future and in striving, each according to the measure of their individual capacity, to work out the salvation of our land, we should be neither timid pessimists nor foolish optimists. We should recognize the dangers that exist and that threaten us: we should neither overestimate them nor shrink from them, but steadily fronting them should set to work to overcome and beat them down. Grave perils are yet to be encountered in the stormy course of the magical world – perils from political corruption, perils from individual laziness, indolence and timidity, perils springing from the greed of the unscrupulous rich, and from the anarchic violence of the thriftless and turbulent poor. There is every reason why we should recognize them, but there is no reason why we should fear them or doubt our capacity to overcome them, if only each will, according to the measure of their ability, do their full duty, and endeavor so to live as to deserve the high praise of being called a good magical citizen.

\----------------

So it is now that I come to the heart of the subject. That of instituting on a global level that which has already been approved in my home of Wizarding Great Britain: that of sweeping resolutions and law reforms regarding our interactions and, at times, interference with the muggle – or more correctly, _non magical_ – world.

In the mere span of years since the turning of the century, nearly a hundred wars, rebellions, or other forms of violent conflicts have been won and lost among the non-magical populace. In the last century, so vast are the numbers of wars and of dead that gaining a true accounting amounts to a herculean task long flummoxing historians and undertakers alike. Our dead counted alongside the dead of the warmongering non-magical populace who war for profit, pride, and power alike. Should the magical protections over our lands fall, they would be open to the same colonization, the same greed and encroachment as the natives of lands such as Africa, the East, and the Americas are experiencing for themselves. Open to being plundered, destroyed, or stolen. Stripped of their natural beauties and resources, and left with nothing but the empty shell of what were once vibrant magical lands and thriving magical creatures and peoples.

If in less than a hundred years the filthy non-magical industries and gluttonous appetite for greed can poison their water, their air, their lands and leave them barren and unhealthful, how long I ask would it take them to do the same to our protected places? To our water, our air, our land that gives us life and birth and the blessing of magic? I answer: they have already begun. The earth, our great Mother of Magic, is no closed system. Her body is vast and all encompassing. It does not end at the edges of our wards, her life-blood does not turn around and flow back into our rivers and lakes and streams and seas alone, her breezes and winds do not falter at the feel of a protective enchantment. She continues out and spreads through all the lands and air and sea and what the non-magical industry poisons so does she carry it back to us. Land that has stood untainted and untouched by human hands – magical or otherwise – shows traces of non-magical pollution. Plants that have never felt the touch of rain tainted by factory smoke contain traces of contaminates from a hundred or more miles away. As their wars kill our people and trouble our magical kin and creatures, so does their industry and rape of the land harm our own.

What wizard can call himself a good magical citizen while his Mother of Magic is raped and defiled by the poisons and pollution and lust for always more of the non-magical industry? What witch can call herself a good magical citizen as long as her children are poisoned by the very air in their lungs or might be stolen away to die on a foreign shore in a non-magical war? I call now for change. I call now for the resolve of every last magical citizen to take a stand and say no more! I call now for not another magical life of any stature to be lost fighting a battle not their own while their very Mother of Magic who gives us Her blessing cries out for aid! I call for the International Confederation to stand with the Lords’ Moot and Wizengamot of Great Britain and defend the very breath and body of our world!

In closing, I bid my brothers and sisters in magic to ask themselves: what is the _price_ that they are willing to pay to pander to the non-magical governments and their demands? That they ask themselves when did we start becoming their tools and weapons and servants rather than free and thinking and liberated peoples of our own territories, our own lands, and our own lives? And above all when will such madness end in preference for the sanity that is a magical citizen’s inalienable rights to liberty, health, and the free practice of the very magic that gives them life?

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about my stories (fanfic and original) find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sif.shadowheart
> 
> Or follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AbramsSif


End file.
